Beloved
by gracereeve
Summary: While Elizabeth Darcy is suitably happy in her very fortunate marriage, she cannot help but feel as if something is missing. When her husband comes to her with an interesting plea, she cannot help but be curious herself. Rated M. Sequel/Variation.
1. Bewildered: Chapter 1

_Hey there everyone! It's me, Grace! I'm back with another P &P variation! _

_This is the first chapter of a new series of shorts I'm currently writing. There will be four shorts in all, and I will be publishing them on Amazon if you're impatient and would like to read it all at once. I'll be posting all the chapters here eventually, just like I did with An Ardent Affection. The first part, 'Bewildered' is already available on Amazon, and will contain a slightly *more* sensual third chapter than what I will be posting here (to keep up with ffnet's allowed content). Thanks so much and please enjoy chapter 1 of Bewildered, (Part 1 of Beloved). 3_

* * *

 _ **CHAPTER ONE**_

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It was a truth universally acknowledged, that a woman most recently made a bride to a man so utterly perfect as was Fitzwilliam Darcy, must be a happy woman indeed.

Elizabeth herself certainly could not find a reason to complain about her newly-found station in life. She wanted for nothing: not for gowns, for pin money, for ribbons and lace, for food in her belly, for endless areas to explore, nor even for books to read. Upon that material front, the new Mrs. Darcy was as happy as any newlywed woman had the right to be.

Likewise, her husband was amiable—more than amicable. One might even extend themselves to call him doting. Fitzwilliam could scarcely be in the same room as she without gazing upon his young wife with something akin to rapture. Whenever they walked together, he curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, slowing his own gait to match hers. To look at the pair, one wouldn't find anything amiss in their picture of blissful happiness.

And so Elizabeth found herself pondering this many nights. In rapt confusion, she wondered at the odd feeling in her belly that told her there was, as yet, still something decidedly missing from her otherwise happy marriage.

She hesitated to say what she thought it was, because even to think such a thing was likely as sinful as it would be if she should breathe a word about the subject to anyone in her acquaintance. But her problem lay precisely where she did: in her bed.

Elizabeth had, over the course of her engagement to her Mr. Darcy, been led to believe that the marriage bed was something of a given when one was married.

Her own mother had indeed given her a rather long discussion about the topic, even though Lizzy would hesitate to truly call it a discussion. It could more accurately be termed a lecture, for she certainly hadn't been afforded a break in her dear mother's dialogue to muster a question about anything. Still, if she was to believe her mother's oration about the nature and frequency of those most secret of relations, her own could certainly be considered lacking.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, her mother had explained that men were often insatiable in their carnal appetites. The proof, she'd asserted, being her own five daughters. At the time, that sort of talk had seemed scandalous. Elizabeth's eyes had widened and her mother had patted her hand and assured her that it usually wasn't a long drawn out affair. In fact, it rarely happened now that she was well past childbearing years.

None of this information had proved useful to her, however, when Mr. Darcy had prevailed upon her the first night of their honeymoon. After spending their wedding night at Longbourn, and traveling for most of the next day, she hadn't been expecting to hear his soft knock upon her bedchamber, but she wasn't cross for it either.

He'd slipped in as quietly as he ever did anything, moving into her bed and out of it again once he was finished. He'd kissed her forehead and cradled her close for a handful of minutes before rising and taking his leave.

Much to her surprise, the bedding itself wasn't wholly unpleasant. There had been pain of course, as well as blood. But it wasn't so terrible as to not be borne. Quite the contrary, Elizabeth felt it might have actually been quite pleasant if it hadn't been over so soon or perhaps if he'd remained with her afterward, even. Instead, that he'd left her with only the absence of his warmth _and_ his embrace was very nearly the worst part of it all.

Perhaps it was the way of things. She wasn't fearful that Mr. Darcy had suddenly fallen out of love with her—quite the contrary in fact. Upon breaking her fast the next morning, her husband had been as doting as he ever was, sharing his sweet smiles with her and her alone, even as he shared his kind manner and lovely temper with everyone. And he was scarcely away from her, not leaving her side if he could at all help the matter.

It made for a rather lovely honeymoon if one ignored the mere handful of times he'd visited her bedchamber. Again, it wasn't the activities they got up to that caused her to feel disheartened, but rather the scarce frequency of those visits.

Unfortunately, their frequency had dwindled even more since the Darcys had arrived at Pemberley. This came as no surprise to the young Mrs. Darcy, for she was well aware of the duties to which her husband had to attend. Even so, she felt herself grow more disappointed with each night she passed alone in her bedchamber. For, should it not stand to reason that, the less time spent in each other's company during the daylight hours, the more they should spend together once the curtains had been drawn?

As Elizabeth lay there in her bed alone, she wondered if indeed her worrying was for naught. There wasn't any particular reason to concern herself. Her husband hadn't expressed any distaste in her behavior or the way she kept house. Perhaps the worry was simply the product of an anxious state of mind that every new wife had the misfortune of succumbing. A garden of woes that would surely die out once she became more accustomed to being Mistress of Pemberley. It wouldn't come to bear any hideous fruit, surely.

She had all but fallen asleep, having calmed herself with such thoughts, her eyelids falling closed just as she heard the faintest of knocks upon the bedroom door. Brow furrowing, Elizabeth blinked at the door, her eyesight bleary and sleep-fogged, before rising to a seated position. She reached for her dressing gown when she heard it once more.

"Just a moment," she called, tying the garment about her waist and tip-toeing to the door. She opened it to the anxious face of her husband, and the sight melted her heart of any ill will she may have borne him for waking her.

Why, hadn't she just been worried about this very thing? And here he had arrived to prove her wrong, to assuage her nerves.

"Did I wake you?" He asked, brow knit with worry as she shook her head.

"No, I had only just laid down. Please come in, dear husband."

She moved to the side to allow him entrance. He followed her to the bed, watching her remove her dressing gown and drape it over a chair near it. He did the same, climbing into bed in only his nightshirt.

This was another curiosity about her husband. He never fully undressed himself-nor her, for that matter-when he entered her bed. He merely pulled up his nightshirt around his waist and waited for her to do the same. Now, it might be Lizzy's romantic tendencies coming into play here, but she had hoped to feel his bare skin against her own. Perhaps this was not a thought befitting of a lady, particularly not a lady in her own position, but she could not help but think it all the same. It was difficult not to, what with their nightclothes bunched up around their middles and keeping them from being fully _together_.

It was no matter, however, because as he settled himself between her legs, she was afforded the luxury of his bare legs against hers. It was just as good, if not the same, as what she desired. Even with the bundle of cloth between them, they still were together somewhat, she supposed.

He delicately pressed her knees apart, his touch such that she could barely feel the pressure of his fingertips upon her skin.

Likewise, when he entered her, he did so with such gentle care that it never caused her pain. Aside from the queer feeling of being so full where she generally wasn't, it barely caused any upset at all. And there was never a hair out of place when he'd finished. The only real discomfort was the weight of him upon her body as he lay atop her.

He was never in need of her help to achieve his arousal either. She could always feel his stiffness against her body when he pressed close to her. He usually took some work to get inside her fully, because it took her a few minutes for her body to open up and accept him, to ease his passage.

His arms bracketed her head as his hips moved against her body, pulling back slightly to reach an angle that wasn't as apparently uncomfortable as the current one. His head was down, so Elizabeth couldn't see his face, but it seemed to be a more suitable position given he continued in it. In the process, Fitzwilliam changed the angle of his thrusting, making a different sensation flow through her body. It felt as if fire had flooded her veins. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, her toes curled inward upon themselves. It was something very different than how she usually felt, in that she was very much feeling _something_. It was almost pleasurable. It was in a word, lovely.

"Oh…" she exclaimed, her eyes going wide as he moved.

"What is it?" He whispered, stopping immediately, much to her chagrin. "Have I hurt you, my darling?"

"No, no…" she assured him. "No, I am yet unhurt. You have not… I feel quite well, Fitzwilliam."

"Oh… well… that is quite a good thing, is it not?" he whispered, resuming his previous activities. Unfortunately, his angle was fixed now, and Elizabeth felt the usual nothing as he found his end, huffing out her name softly in her ear as his hips moved erratically.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to hide her disappointment.

"I love you, darling…" he whispered.

"I love you," she replied, turning to capture his lips in a kiss, his member still inside her. She felt unabashed, unafraid, steadfast in her love for the man seated between her legs. Regardless of her dissatisfaction, she loved her husband very much.

If her mother's perspective on the topic was to be regarded with any sense of weight, Lizzy should count herself lucky to have a partner who could carry out such activities without causing her any discomfort or pain. She was quite a lucky woman indeed, by those accounts.

Fitzwilliam kissed her, lingering in their embrace even as he pulled himself from the warmth of her body.

He ventured over to her wash basin, bringing her a cloth with which to clean herself and his leavings from between her thighs and inside her body. When she looked up to say goodnight, he was already at the door, whispering his own goodnights as he left her room.

Elizabeth returned the cloth to the washbasin and went back to bed, pulling the blankets up and over her body as she curled herself into a ball, staring at the wall beside the bed. As she had told herself previously, there was nothing overtly wrong to worry herself over.

But she couldn't help but feel her old feelings come over her again. Perhaps a good night's sleep would help her decide what was to be done, if anything.


	2. Bewildered: Chapter 2

_Here is Chapter 2! Enjoy! (As always, Bewildered is available on Amazon under my pen name, Grace Reeve!)_

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Elizabeth joined her husband for breakfast the following morning, after having a very fitful sleep, when she slept at all. She'd spent a bit longer on her toilet and dress that morning, in the hopes that she would be able to hide the sleeplessness from her countenance. It was all for naught, apparently, for Fitzwilliam noted at once the problem and quickly pulled her aside as soon as he was able.

"Elizabeth, what is the matter?" He asked, his brow knit once more with worry. "Are you well?"

"I am," she told him. "I am very well, I assure you, darling husband."

"Something has displeased you, then. I… I apologize if I am to blame."

Now, it was her turn to knit her brow with worry. "What?"

"I knew I had done, as I was leaving you…" he trailed off, his face reddening as he realized what he was saying, and more importantly, _where_ he was saying it. "Forgive me, I'm embarrassing you."

"All is always forgiven, Fitzwilliam," she said softly. "And I am not displeased with you. Since we were married, you have never displeased me."

"There is something, though, is there not? I have felt it. Ever since we went on honeymoon."

She shook her head. "I am convinced it is just my nerves."

He looked little assured by her admission. "Surely it is more than just that, Elizabeth."

"Overactive nerves are come by honestly in my family, I am sure you are aware…" she said with a soft laugh. "There was no way to escape them, Mr. Darcy."

"Elizabeth, please do not tease me now. Tell me what I have done."

Confusion swirled through her mind as again, she shook her head. "Darling, I assure you, from the bottom of my heart, that you have done nothing untoward. You have been doting and loving, taking care of my every need and wish, even the ones I did not dare voice. You have been a model husband. It is… it is _I_ who fears she has displeased _you_."

His dark gaze bore into hers, and she felt quite weak in light of it, reaching out to grasp hold of his arm. "You could never displease me, Elizabeth. Not if you spent me out of my entire inheritance and never spoke a kind word to me again."

"I would never—"

"I know you would never, and that is all the more reason to love you, darling," he reached for her hands. "I fear this is not something we can discuss outside of your bedchamber. Am I correct in this assumption?"

She nodded, wondering how he could be so congruous with her thoughts when she had not ever spoken aloud even a word of her worries.

"Very well, darling. I will visit you this night, and we will speak about whatever it is you need to speak about."

She nodded and felt hot tears begin to well in her eyes as her Fitzwilliam leaned over to press a soft kiss to her temple.

What a wonderful husband she had, indeed.

When he arrived in her bedchambers, she still had no earthly idea how she was going to tell him what was needed, what she desired.

He was still dressed, albeit he'd forgone his coat and stood before her in his waistcoat. It accentuated his narrow waist. His broad shoulders. Two things that brought to the forefront of Elizabeth's mind the reason for this encounter.

Fitzwilliam stood awkwardly in the doorway for a long moment, looking around her room. "Are you quite comfortable in here, Elizabeth?" he began at once, seemingly unable to allow the silence to stand for long.

A smile spread across her face as she watched him in his very awkward attempt at small talk. Unbeknownst to him, he had given her just the right cue to begin her discussion.

"I _am_ quite comfortable in here…" she began. "Perhaps a bit too comfortable?"

His hand paused upon one of the tapestries he was admiring. "Too comfortable?"

"Quite. I find myself swallowed up in this grand bed all alone. The room echoes and reminds me of how singular I am. It really is not to be borne, Mr. Darcy." She hoped her tone conveyed the teasing nature of her quibbles, but a mere glance in his direction revealed that it had not.

He frowned, wringing his hands slightly before answering her. "Would you like another room, my darling? I'm afraid there are none that adjoin with my own, but I would forego that luxury if only it would please you."

"No, no… Fitzwilliam, you misunderstand my intention!" she quickly countered, going to him and reaching for his hands, imploring him to look at her. "I was merely trying to make light of an uncomfortable situation… Darling husband, I simply wish for you to visit me more often!"

His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline and he dropped his hands from hers, one of them moving up to rake into the curls atop his head. " _More_ often?" he sputtered. "My dear, sweet Elizabeth, I… I…"

She went to him again, reaching again for his hand, lacing it into her own. "Would you like to sit down?"

He nodded absently, allowing himself to be led to her settee and placed upon it. His face had all but gone white as he turned to face her.

Alarmed, Elizabeth clasped his hand all the tighter. "Fitzwilliam… did I ask for the wrong thing, my darling?"

"No, no… you've never done anything wrong since I've met you—"

"That is a blatant falsehood, Fitzwilliam, and you know it."

He shook his head. "No, no… you didn't ask for the wrong thing, but I fear it's something I cannot give you."

A dreadful feeling began to drip down from her face to her abdomen. It was as she had feared after all! "You cannot?" she repeated. "So I am correct in assuming I have asked for too much?"

"It is not too much, and yet, I cannot give it to you. You deserve it and more, dear wife, but I fear I do not know _how_ to love you. I do not know how to love a woman such as you. I cannot give you what you ask for, Elizabeth… I am not man enough. I am _sorry_."

She was stunned. "Fitzwilliam, you indeed _are_ man enough."

"I am not. I can tell when I visit you… I disappoint you. It is why I do not come to your bedchamber more often. I can tell I am leaving you wanting, but I fear I cannot give you what you desire."

"What are you speaking of? Of course, you give me what I want!"

"You are not yet with child, Elizabeth. And we have been married these nine months already…" He lowered his voice. "I am clearly not giving you what you need."

"You think I need a child, Fitzwilliam? Of course, I want children, but that's not all I want!"

He pressed his lips together. "I know that my darling, but it is a symptom of a much larger problem."

She furrowed her brow. "Of what?"

"You are a woman who is very worthy of being pleased, and I believe I have succeeded in pleasing you in all ways save one."

She struggled at once to discern his meaning, and could only return to the worry that had been keeping her wide awake most evenings.

"Fitzwilliam, I sincerely hope I've never said or behaved in a way that has caused you to think so ill of yourself."

"It was not purposeful, I assure you, my darling."

She reached for his hands, pulling them to her lips. "What can I do?"

"Teach me…" he whispered, his eyes upon her lips as he watched her kiss his fingers. "Teach me how to please you."

Her eyes widened. "What? Fitzwilliam, I do not have any idea how—"

He disengaged one of his hands, bringing it up to her cheek. "Please? I want to be the kind of husband you deserve…"

"You already are," she said quickly, tilting her head to lean into his touch. Elizabeth swallowed thickly, reaching up to press her hand over his. "But what if I do not know any better than you do?"

"Just… tell me what to do," he repeated, his eyes widening slightly. "Tell me."

Her mouth went dry as she realized what he was asking. "You want me to… talk to you… during the—"

He nodded and leaned over, his lips lingering against hers for a long moment. "Tell me how to love you, my darling… All I want is to please you."

Elizabeth was filled with a heady feeling. One she'd scarcely felt before in her life. She'd felt a little of it when she'd spoken harshly to him the first time he had proposed, but never to this great magnitude. Her body responded to the feeling, priming her for more of what he was promising.

"And you are willing?" she asked, her voice pitched low and sounding so unlike her usual tones.

She watched his throat bob before he nodded.

"Even now?"

"Especially now."

"Right, then…" She rose to her feet, with Fitzwilliam following. "Let us away to bed, then, husband."

"I am afraid I am not dressed for bed," he replied, glancing down at his clothes.

"All the better," she replied, glancing up and down his body in an approving manner. "Just… undress, and come to bed as you are."

His face blushed crimson, but he obliged her.

She watched him reach for the buttons of his waistcoat, dragging each one open as he peeled the garment from his body. His cravat was soon tossed with the waistcoat onto the chair nearest him. His shirt followed, and Elizabeth thought for a long moment about stepping forward and helping him, but she remained where she was, primly seated at the end of her bed as he peeled each article of clothing from his body.

Every article until he was quite bare.

Her eyes scanned his form, looking over the expanse of skin she'd scarcely seen before now.

Her body responded in kind, a burning wet feeling washing over her lower half, one she had only felt shadows of before. She was almost embarrassed by the reaction, but she sat very still, despite the flush that was surely covering her body now.

"Come over here," she said, patting the bed beside her and thrilling as he did so. He was so close, so very close that she could touch him. Run her fingers over his skin and watch him shudder with pleasure.

"I have not ever seen this much of you at once," she said softly, feeling his shoulders shake with laughter as he agreed.

"It never occurred to me that you should like to," he confessed.

"Why would I not? You really are quite handsome, Mr. Darcy."

"And you are a vision of beauty, Mrs. Darcy," he replied, his eyes firmly stationed upon hers, keeping her from looking away.

"Am I?" she asked, reaching for the ribbons holding her nightgown closed. "Would you like to see me?" She felt emboldened by his nakedness, and it made her to show him the same.

He nodded.

She started to reach for the ribbons but thought better of it.

"See me, Fitzwilliam," she murmured, reaching for his hands instead. She stood in front of him and pulled both hands up to the ribbons at her throat. "See me."

"Elizabeth…" he whispered, tugging on the ribbon at once.


End file.
